LAMENT
by Something Pretty
Summary: [ Cassidy x Mac. ] Dick Casablancas persuades her to clean out his bedroom, and only music can protect her from the silence. But, when one′s company is nothing more than his favorite song and packing boxes, blood will begin to boil in the summer heat.


**LA****M****ENT  
**  
Heartbeat slowing to the rhythm of a metronome:  
And all she can see, all she can feel is him.

_takes place after the events of 2x22 "not pictured"._ **  
**

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cassidy&mac.  
for your viewing pleasure.

ღ

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**D**ick Casablancas had worked hard to protect his macho image. On the day of graduation, all he was known for was his slacker attitude and his ability to pick up girls; he'd been nothing but an arrogant asshole that had everything handed to him. He'd coasted his way through high school by manipulating others, weaseling his way into the hearts of innocent, dateless girls who would have taken his finals _for_ him if they had even the slightest chance with the notorious Dick Casablancas. Who would have guessed that he would be too fragile for this? It hadn't shown_ before_ he had jumped; after all, he had been one of Dick's prime targets. And now he was dead.

So, naturally, Dick Casablancas dumped everything on her. He'd begged, he'd pleaded. He had said that he couldn't deal with his father's fleeing the country, his bitchy con-artist stepmother, and packing up his dead brother's belongings.

She had not obliged in pity of the sex-crazed hot shot. As far as she was concerned, she didn't owe Dick anything. She could have let him crash and burn, wishing his father would act like a responsible adult, cursing Kendall for stepping all over him -- and Cassidy before he had committed suicide by jumping off of the high roof of the Neptune Grand. Oh yes, she _could_ have. She _would_ have if it weren't for her debt to his brother, and her belief that his room should be packed up by someone who had always cared about him, always appreciated him even before he had jumped.

That was her reason for punching in the code that Dick had given her, listening to the click of the garage door and watching it rise, stepping into the vacant Casablancas house on that hot afternoon in mid-August. There were no cars parked within the garage; the last she'd heard, Dick had moved into the penthouse of the very hotel Cassidy had leapt off of, rooming with Logan Echolls and drowning his sorrows with loose women and booze. The door into the main house was unlocked, leaving no use for the key that Dick had left under mat for her. The silence in the house was almost unbearable; the mail piled up on the floor of the foyer and the curtains drawn. It looked as if no one had lived there in decades, dust gathering on the expensive furniture and the family photos that lined the walls. She averted the family's smiles, frozen in time; a time when Dick Sr. and Betina had been together, a time when Cassidy was still alive.

Mac ascended the stairs to the second floor, unable to keep from putting her iPod ear buds in her ears, playing the loudest, most obnoxious song on her playlist. It wasn't supposed to have ended like this.

She set the collapsed boxes down on the carpet in the hallway, hearing the ominous _thud_ even with the music tearing at her sensitive ear drums. She brought a quivering hand to the icy doorknob, turning it with one quick movement, and thrusting the door open to reveal a bedroom that looked no different than when she had seen it last. It had the appearance of a typical teenaged boy's room, bed unmade, clothes strewn on the floor, video games and DVDs lying in disarray. She feared for a moment that her tears would resurface, standing there before her deceased boyfriend's bedroom with the intent on emptying it of all of his personal possessions. For a moment, she felt as though she was insulting his memory.

Mac closed her eyes, exhaling, before stepping into the familiar bedroom and waiting for the rhythm of her music to shield her heavy heart. She paused in the center of the room, eyes meeting every poster that hung on the walls, the computer and cluttered desk on which it sat, the disorganized closet from which clothes spilled, the gaming systems and the television upon which framed photographs were precariously balanced. She breathed in the essence of Cassidy, her heart breaking with every movement she made, with every lyric that pulsed into her ears. She didn't want to clean out his bedroom. She didn't want to eliminate the one place that had remained separate from his death. His clothing, his bed sheets, his posters, his Xbox -- none of these inanimate objects could recognize the fact that their owner was not coming back. They could not know that his clothes would never be worn again, his bed would never be slept in, his posters would never encourage him to watch the movies they represented, and his games would never be played.

Here, he would never be gone -- and Dick wanted his room emptied.

Mac sighed, kneeling down to assemble one of the boxes with duct tape. She reached for an abandoned pair of his jeans, checking the pockets and setting aside their contents before tossing the jeans into the box. She did the same for several other garments, until the clothing was contained in the makeshift cardboard box and the beige carpet was revealed. Music continued to pump through her veins as she attacked the computer desk, resisting the temptation to power up his hardrive, an action that would most likely determine how neglectful she had been of Cassidy's underlying issues. The items he had left on the desk were nothing out of the ordinary: pencils, pens, printouts from the Phoenix Land Trust web site that he had intended to deliver to his stepmother, Physics notes. They went into a new box, along with the items she had removed from the pockets of his clothes. The numbing beat of her music quieted as mellower songs began to play, and though it nearly killed her to keep listening, she couldn't bring herself to turn it off.

Heartbeat slowing to the rhythm of a metronome: all she could see, all she could feel was him.

The music stopped just as she tugged _Dungeons and Dragons_ out from beneath his messy bed, and she yanked the ear buds from her ears; she could have sworn that she had heard his voice.

"You really sucked at that game." He teased, and his laughter ran through her like lightening.

Mac came to the conclusion that she had gone insane; the silence, the bedroom -- her mind was playing cruel tricks on her, attacking her heart with tendrils of pain and yearning. It was the orange-golden sunlight that shone in from the window, the image he had left burned to her retinas. _That_ was what led her to believe that the deceased Cassidy Casablancas was sitting in the room with her, propped up on his elbow atop of his tangled bedclothes. He looked no different than when she had seen him last, hair still ruffled and brown, shirt cuffs unbuttoned and jeans wrinkled. His smile exactly how she had remembered it; it had always been genuine and relaxed when he was with her.

"A-Are you kidding? I won every time." She responded, her words catching in her throat.

Cassidy sat up on his bed, grinning down at her. "Who said I didn't _let_ you win?"

Mac returned the smile. "Whatever helps you sleep at night." Perhaps, it was the wrong choice of words.

Her smile faded; even if she _wasn't_ crazy, even if he _was_ sitting right in front of her… what could she say? Cassidy Casablancas had detonated a bomb on a bus full of their classmates, killing the driver and sending the students plummeting off of a cliff to their deaths. He'd robbed her while she was in the shower, abandoning her in a hotel room. He'd blown up Woody Goodman's plane, killing him and everyone else on board. He'd tried to murder Veronica Mars… and he'd _raped_ her to prove to his brother that he was man enough. Cassidy Casablancas had shaken the citizens of Neptune in almost every way possible… and then, he had jumped.

So, what could she say? What could she do to make things right?

"Listen…" Mac was thankful that he was the one to break the awkward silence that had enveloped the room. She kept her eyes on _Dungeons and Dragons_, unable to meet his gaze without sacrificing her composure. "Mac… I know what you must be thinking. _' _There's Beaver, back from the dead after murdering the mayor and a bus full of kids before jumping off of the Neptune Grand. _'_ It's okay. I get it. You should be upset. You should hate me; me and everything that reminds you of me. And if you are crazy, I'd understand if you want to wake up from this nightmare of yours… but, in case you don't mind staying… letting this strange illusion take its course… I have something to say."

She allowed her eyes to meet his; it was inevitable after a speech like that. She set the roleplaying game aside, sliding it across the carpet with a quiet _swish_. "Okay. I'm here."

Cassidy shifted in his position, reaching for her hand. His was cold and pale on her skin, making her shiver even in the August heat. His eyes showed sadness and remorse, and he entwined his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry. I'm _really_ sorry." His words made her eyes sting with tears. "I know it doesn't make up for what I did… I know it doesn't fix anything. I know it doesn't make any of this okay, but… I mean it." He paused a second time. "I don't _know_ what I was thinking. Paul and Marcos were going to come forward… and I was _embarrassed_. I didn't _want_ to take on Woody Goodman, despite the bastard he was. It was our word against his -- the mayor of Neptune! I knew no one would believe us… and Dick would have made it an excuse to prove to everyone that I was just some queer sophomore who wanted attention. One thing led to another and then… they were dead." He shook his head, releasing her hand and leaning back on the bed.

"I framed Veronica Mars because the sheriff would believe that she was responsible. I didn't have anything against her, it was just… convenient. And about Shelly Pomroy's party… it's not like I didn't regret it. Whenever I talked to Veronica I felt guilty, but I just couldn't bring myself to come forward…" Mac frowned to herself, unable to say anything in response. Cassidy couldn't blame everything on Dick, but it was true that it was partially his fault. "And _Goodman_." He added; Mac could have sworn she saw his fist shaking with anger.

"After they killed Lucky… I knew Goodman was off the hook unless I did something about it. No one would investigate the mayor. He was just the innocent guy who kept Neptune together after the bus crash. During the Aaron Echolls case." Cassidy shook his head for what seemed like the thousandth time, his voice quieting. "He wasn't. He was_ nothing_ the citizens of Neptune thought he was. He was a pervert. He _molested_ me! How was I supposed to have _normal_ relationships after that? I was a little kid!" He stopped himself, unable to meet her eyes. "I know it's completely twisted. I know they were bringing him in after Keith Mars caught him. He just… he deserved to die."

Mac blinked away tears, reaching for his hand this time. What would the authorities have done? She doubted that Sheriff Lamb would bother worrying about something that happened nine years ago -- that was just the kind of man he was. And even if something was done, Woody Goodman was one of the most important figures of Neptune. How long would his sentence last? A few years at the least? A registration as a sex offender and his removal from office? That was nothing compared to the torment he had put Paul, Marcos, and Cassidy through. Maybe he_ had_ deserved to die.

"Veronica found me out." Cassidy began speaking once more; he seemed to have regained himself. "I knew what I had done would ruin what was left of my life… and I was willing to do anything to keep that from happening. I mean, wasn't my life screwed up enough as it was? I wasn't about to sit back and let Veronica get me sent to juvie… or worse. I kept imagining what you'd think… what you'd do if you found out. So I left you in the shower, and I took your clothes so you wouldn't be able to come after me." He tightened his grip on her hand. "I told Veronica that I'd killed you because I wanted her to know that I wasn't playing around. I never would have. You were the only person who _actually_ cared -- you meant more to me that anyone else." Mac stood up from the floor, sitting beside him on the unmade bed and resting her head on his shoulder, allowing the first of her tears to begin falling.

"I thought I had her when I blew up Woody's plane. Her dad was supposed to have been on that flight. And if it hadn't been for Logan… I would have gotten away with all of the terrible things I'd done. But, Veronica got the gun from me, and I knew I was screwed. Everything started to catch up with me… the bus… Veronica's father… I couldn't take it anymore. I knew I'd never be free again. I knew everyone in Neptune would hate me. I knew Dick and my father would disown me even more than they had before. I knew you'd never speak to me again. I knew my life was over. So I jumped."

Mac couldn't keep herself from breaking down; what had she expected coming here? Sitting in the room that hadn't been touched since he had left it to attend her graduation ceremony, to cheer for her, to be with her? She felt that there was nothing else she could do. There was nothing that could repair these wounds as the horrible memories toyed with her mind, and he appeared to her just as she had last seen him alive. She could do nothing except cry.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

She struggled to find her voice. "I r-really wish you hadn't jumped."

"Me too."

---

"**M**ac?" The petite blonde slipped into the house from the unlocked garage door. She carried a stack of collapsed boxes much like the girl before her had; she had figured that it was safe to assume that Cassidy Casablancas had a lot of belongings to pack up. Her messenger bag was slung around her other arm, containing the items that she had guessed would be useful during a chore like this: her iPod and its home, permanent markers, tissues for when tears were shed, sandwiches… Veronica wasn't about to let Mac deal with this alone. Only Dick would be so insensitive.

"Mac?" She repeated, beginning to ascend the dark staircase; the sun had just begun to set, and the sky was losing its light with each passing moment. Veronica dropped her boxes onto the pile that Mac had made, removing her messenger bag from her shoulder as she glanced at the door to Beaver's room, which was slightly ajar. "Mac, I've brought you PB and J, the least you can do is answer me." Still no response. "Mac. _Mac_."

Veronica shook blonde strands from her eyes as she pushed open the door.

---

"_Come away with me, and we'll never have to worry about anything again. No Woody Goodman… or Veronica Mars… just us. Forever." Even his breath was cold on her ear. "And ever."_

_She turned to meet his gaze once more._

"_It'll only hurt for a second. And then, it'll be over… all there'll be is an eternal peace." He promised, taking her hand with his ghostly one; it felt like liquid nitrogen on her skin._

"_And you'll stay with me?"_

_He kissed her ear, her neck, her lips…_

---

There she was, lifeless atop of his tangled sheets, eyes no longer seeing and heart no longer beating. Veronica tore past a box filled with Cassidy Casablancas's clothes, feeling Mac's wrist for a pulse that would never come. The blonde felt her eyes blurring with tears as she stumbled, pressing her hand against the mattress. Muffled music came from the abandoned ear buds of Mac's iPod, hammering a rhythm _1, 2, 3_ into the teen sleuth's chest.

"Mac. Mac. _Mac_! Wake up." She shook the shoulders of her friend, despite the fact that her attempt was futile.

She stared at the thin line across Cindy Mackenzie's throat; and like her tortured boyfriend, she'd done herself in. Blood seeped down her front like red paint, soaking into her clothing with ominous greed. Veronica could barely dial her father's number from the cell phone she had fished out of her messenger bag, a mixture of shock and sadness pumping through her veins. She picked up the innocent iPod, waking it with a magenta painted fingernail as the phone rang and rang; it felt as though Keith would never answer. Her heart fell as her call went to voicemail, and perfect black letters rolled slowly across the screen, revealing the name of the song that had been playing.

_The Way You Are_ by 46bliss.

Veronica allowed the iPod to fall to the beige carpet that had been spattered with Mac's blood. She hugged her knees as she punched in the numbers _9, 1, 1,_ tears falling freely from her eyes.

The music swelled, and there was a song for everything. And it pulsed in the veins of those who listened. Heartbeat slowing to the rhythm of a metronome: all she had seen, all she had felt was him.

And she had died listening to his favorite song.

---

_fin_.


End file.
